


To Boldly Go

by Identiaetslos



Series: Threvellan Collection [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Fluff, It's never a goodbye it's always onto a new adventure, Marriage, Romance, What Really Happened After Adamant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 11:52:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15684888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Identiaetslos/pseuds/Identiaetslos
Summary: In my head, Marian and Isabela never made it to Weisshaupt thanks to a promise made by Wyn Lavellan to let them have the future they always wanted.





	1. Chapter 1

Weisshaupt was where they said they were going, and as far as Leliana’s scouts were concerned, that was where the small party was headed. Even though, that was not their true destination. Under disguise, Inquisitor Wynaelora Lavellan and her beloved wife, a heartbroken Lieutenant Threnn, had made good on their promise, personally escorting the Champion of Kirkwall, Marian Hawke and Admiral Isabela through the gates at Gwaren to their awaiting freedom.

A beautiful morning it was, rare sun poked through the clouds and lay in patches through the rows of trees that lined the city, like a grand carpet laid out by Mythal or Andruil or the Maker or whomever to greet the Champion and her love to a new day. On the wind, the crispness of fall seasoned the salted breeze and rustled the tops of the sturdy Fereldan elm trees as their boughs stretched to the Heavens as though trying to tickle the clouds wafting by. It was calm, peaceful, a slice of life that was almost enough for the four of them to forget the chaos that reigned over the rest of Thedas.

“Does it look different?” Hawke asked, steadying her horse turning her attention to Threnn. The Lieutenant wore standard Ferelden infantry leathers with no rank insignia and a scout hat, which obscured enough to make her identity forgettable.

Marian, on the other hand, wore a rogue’s leather and light armor and a nondescript archer’s hat; two armored souls, especially one wearing the Champion’s armor, would draw too much attention, and without the red streak across her nose, one could think they saw Marian Hawke riding by through the sleepy streets or someone who just looked like her.

Either way, the gate guards and the few passers by they encountered seemed to either not care or not recognize them, merely nodding their heads in acknowledgment as one would out of politeness.

“Better than when last I imagined,” Threnn said with a romance in her voice as she lingered on old memories. “Last time I was here was just after the Blight. Most of us returning from the war were just looking for something familiar to come back to. Back then, the only thing familiar were the streets and less of a Chantry tower than there is now,” she pointed to the gray stone building rising from the end of the city near the docks.

Like the Chantry in Haven and many other culturally significant Ferelden edifices, it was elegant in its brutal simplicity and awe-inspiring presence. Rebuilt from ashes like much of the city, and looked as though it could take a direct blast from Qunari artillery and still live.

Beside Threnn, the Inquisitor, dressed in rags befitting a serving elf, face shrouded under a hood and no visible mage staff. Threnn was doing her best to keep her emotions quiet, but watching her eyes tracing the handiwork of her people, the handiwork that she could no longer have a part in, Wyn felt her heart break. She gently nudged her spotted Dalish mare close enough that she could lean over and kiss her love’s thin lips, chapped red by the cool air. 

Just as she did so, the wind blew back the Inquisitor’s hood, revealing her platinum hair, braided behind her head enough so that her vallaslin and ears were visible.

A pair of passing Chantry sisters noticed the moment and gasped at the sight of a fine Fereldan soldier being kissed by who appeared to be her elven prisoner or servant.

Since the rise of the Inquisition, attitudes toward elves and mixed partnerships with them had been changing rapidly across Thedas. Empress Celine’s rumored affair with an elf handmaiden was becoming a popular tale, and the recent spectacle of the elven Inquisitor’s marriage to one of her guardsmen, attended by none other than Queen Anora herself, had been pulp for pages of smutty romance novels the likes that even Varric wouldn’t touch.

Like many social matters ingrained by centuries of oppression compounded by social engineering, the changes had been met with equal resistance as there was support. It was a question with these Chantry sisters, but they seemed to be more awestruck than they were a threat.

“Look at them. They look like the top of a wedding cake,” Isabela said from beside Marian. To her chagrin, Isabela had been conned into wearing the orange and green of an Inquisition infantry uniform, also sans rank and any other identifying marks. Her hair was tied back behind her head with a pin given to her by Josephine.

“I had no idea wedding cakes had statues of random infantry soldiers and elven women dressed as hobos.” Hawke joked.

“We _are_ still in Ferelden. If there isn’t one, there surely will be one soon, inspired by the two of them.”

Hawke couldn’t resisted a smile and rewarded Isabela with a kiss of her own. “I think they inspire you,” she teased. Ever since attending the ceremony between Threnn and Wynaelora, Isabela had gone quiet every time the subject of marriage was brought up around them. Hawke made sure to dismiss any suggestions as Isabela would want, but there had been a look of longing in those dark eyes as she watched the Inquisitor in her brilliant gown, as white as the tops of the Frostbacks and looking like the closest things to Mythal that had ever been depicted.

“The only thing they inspire is to move more quickly, so I can get out of whatever terribleness they put me in,” Isabela said, tugging at the pea green tunic. “You know there is a lovely hat shop just before we get to my ship.”

“You and your hats...” Hawke said.

“Well, kitten, I don’t look as good in iron as you do,” Isabela retorted and squeezed the inside of Marian’s thigh lovingly.

Marian gasped and felt her face go hot. “Here in the middle of the city?”

“Maybe we can get those two involved,” Isabela joked, tossing her darkened locks at the Inquisitor and her Lieutenant in front of them.

“Stop,” Marian grumbled and slapped Isabela playfully on the arm. As uncomfortable as Isabela looked, the excitement behind her dark eyes betrayed her protest. She would be happy as soon as she was on that boat, and Hawke would be too.

Threnn nodded to a few fellow soldiers as they passed by. She didn’t recognize them, and they looked far too young to have served during the Blight. Idly she wondered where they were all from. Were they from elsewhere in Ferelden like so many had been during the wars, or was Gwaren finally maturing enough to grow some of their own?

Looking down the fresh cobbles and the women dressed in bright, freshly washed dresses, and the men in pressed suits walking smartly to and fro. Hope had returned. Hawke wondered if it had anything to do with what happened at Adamant. Surely, it did.

In the middle of the town square was a stone sculpture well underway of a larger-than-life figure. A man who Threnn instantly recognized to be her former commanding officer, and a man she loved as her mentor, a man whose loss she still felt keenly: Loghain Mac Tir. As easy as it would be to blame Wyn for leaving him to fall in the Fade, the choice hadn’t come easy. Wyn and Loghain had surprisingly bonded.

Pulling on the reins, Threnn stopped her horse and dismounted, as did Hawke and Isabela. Without waiting for Wyn or the others, she approached the scaffolding. No one was working on him today, but there was still a placard in front of the sculpture identifying who it was supposed to be and why: _Teyrn of Gwaren, Hero of The River Dane, Gray Warden, Hero of Adamant._ It read. Remembering the kind words he last imparted to her, Threnn felt the sting of tears and touched a gloved hand to the memory and whispered a blessing to Andraste.

Hawke came along side her and touched her shoulder.

“Surprised this is here, but a fitting tribute,” Threnn said.

“I’m sorry,” Wyn said, interrupting her thoughts. She had dismounted and patted the neck of her spotted Dalish Mare as she nibbled hungrily at grass growing out of the seams in the stones.

“When all this is over, I’d like to come back,” Threnn said, scanning the streets.

“Of course,” Wyn said quietly. “Where’s Isabela?” She asked.

Marian looked around frantically. As the day drew on, there would be less of a chance of escape. Even if they did shove off, dark enough, they would have to hug the coastline until there was enough light to safely escape through the rocky channel around Gwaren and into the expanse that was the Amaranthine Ocean.

Ocean...ocean...hat store. Marian’s eyes locked on a wooden sign, swinging in the breeze of JULIENA’S FINE WARES. “Maker, Isabela...” she grumbled and motioned for the others to follow.


	2. Chapter 2

Of course, Isabela had already found every corner of the store and was busy making friends with the shop owner and her husband, chatting them up with a beautiful and rather expensive looking bicorn made of silk, samite, and drakestone thread in her hands. It didn’t go with her outfit at all, and she was well aware as she had successfully talked them into showing her some matching outfits.

“So much for not drawing attention,” Marian said.

Isabela lifted her gaze and winced a little. “I’m sorry, my love, but I had to. You see, there’s no way I’m getting on that boat wearing this,” she pulled at the Inquisition uniform. “I’m sorry...La..Laelfen.” She gestured to Wyn and Threnn who entered just behind Hawke and grinned at catching herself almost giving away the Inquisitor’s identity.

Unfortunately for Isabela, her efforts were for naught and the older Juliena gasped. “Inquisitor!” She breathed and her eyes darted to her companion.

No sense in hiding any longer, Threnn pulled off her cap. “Good to see you well, Juliena. Mariel,” she said, addressing her husband with a nod.

“Threnn!” She exclaimed and tugged at Threnn’s leather belt. “Marriage has already taken to you it seems.”

“We’d appreciate some discretion, Madam Juliena,” Wyn said from Threnn’s side. “As you can see, we do not wear our normal colors and are here on a matter of urgency.”

“Then what are you doing in here?” Mariel asked.

Isabela just grinned.

It wasn’t enough that Isabela’s outfits cost nearly all the coin that Wyn had in her purse, but in order for this plan to continue to work, the shop owners insisted they fit the entire party with clothing and, after finding out their old friend Threnn was betrothed to the Inquisitor herself, requested that they make clothes exclusively for the two of them...at a modest price of course.

Since Threnn was familiar with Juliena and her husband, she imparted the story as to why they were here. They had heard of the trouble with the Wardens and there had been rumors of a demon at the castle at Adamant, but not about the Inquisition journeying through the Fade to escape death or the fact that Loghain sacrificed himself to save the world and that instead of going to Weisshaupt to rebuild the Wardens, the Inquisitor, on her promise to both the Champion and Admiral Isabela, was here to send them off so they could finally be together in peace.

“Is this true?” Juliena asked. She had little doubt of Threnn’s honesty. Despite her talents at the card table, she was never much of a liar, but the story seemed so grand and romantic, she had to hear it again from someone. Tears rimmed her eyes as she turned to the Champion and Isabela who had another hat on her head and was also admiring some fine druffalo hide scabbards.

“It is,” Marian confirmed with a nod.

The Inquisitor nodded her head too.

“But you’re not married,” Juliena guessed correctly.

Marian shrugged. “Never one to be tied down.”

Juliena was an old woman who had seen more than her share. Not just in the matters of war and politics, but every type of person that one could imagine. From small children, jittery apprentices looking for a new start, elves, dwarves, refugees, nobles and royals alike, knights, heroes. Each with a story to tell, whether they spoke of it or it was hidden underneath the surface. She read the two of them like the tattered pages of one of Varric’s books and snorted knowingly.

She motioned to Isabela and Hawke to follow her deeper into the shop. Wordlessly, they complied and entered through a large wooden door that housed some of the most exquisite wedding gowns and suits any of them had laid eyes on.

“These I reserve for couples who truly deserve it; the ones I know who truly love each other. The gown you wore at your wedding, Your Worship, came from this very room,” Juliena said proudly.

Most of the clothes were plain in their elegance, made of varying materials ranging from Antivan silks to Nevarran velvet, satins from the finest corners of Orlais and some Threnn had never seen come out of Denerim, not even on the Queen herself. They were gemmed tastefully with colors that Wyn hadn’t seen, and guessed that they might be dwarven enchantments.

“Most of these gowns have been blessed with the greatest of love. Love that only Andraste can bestow.”

“You want me to try one of these on?” Isabela asked.

Juliena’s mouth flickered with a smile and she touched the Admiral on the shoulder. “I know you think you are unworthy. If I knew otherwise, we wouldn’t be standing here.”

“Are you a mage?” Hawke couldn’t help but ask cautiously.

Juliena did not respond and merely led Isabela over to a dress she had been eyeing. “It suits you. Try it on, love.”

Isabela looked hesitant, but after a few moments of help behind a partition, had it on. Color lined her cheeks and a smile betrayed her as she stood in front of a grand mirror not unlike the Eluvian Merrill used to keep, but appeared to be just a copy. Clutching at the fine fabric, Isabela turned once, admiring her reflection. “I’d keep the hat on,” she said defensively and then looked to Juliena to help her take it off.

As she did so, Isabela’s eyes made contact with Marian, leaned up against a nearby wooden pillar, a boyish smile velvet on her lips. Isabela couldn’t help an awkward laugh. “All of this is lovely, and probably something that Marian or one of these sods over here would appreciate more,” she gestured to her friends, and the woman she loved, but left her hand out for Marian to take. “Getting on a boat together might as well be marriage.” She said, looking up at Marian as she took her hand.

The Chantry bell began to chime the hour: Mid-day.

Those eyes, as blue as the ocean they were about to set off on, were soft and inviting. Like the day she first saw Hawke in the tavern, but so much worse. How many times had those eyes looked up at her, unclothed but never truly naked. Isabela had never been truly naked with her either. After nearly losing her again, it was the one thing she wanted to do the most.


	3. Chapter 3

“Varric is going to be mad we didn’t invite him,” Marian said, adjusting the sash on the suit that Madam Juliena had given her to wear. Despite her protestations, she looked handsome even to herself and fancied the idea of Isabela removing it a little too much.

“He’ll get over it. Or you can always tell him the story he would likely write anyway,” Isabela responded, glancing from under her veil at Wyn Lavellan. Her voice held a hint of regret that their long time friend would not be here to witness this, the one event, that he would likely want to see for himself.

Where life had to take them from here, he couldn’t know. It was best this way, for the safety of the one thing that Isabela finally needed: A future. And one filled with this handsome woman before her. Smiling to herself, she lifted her veil and kissed Marian gently on the lips.

“I haven’t even started yet.” Wyn said humorously.

Out of convenience and a bit of humor it had been decided that this ceremony would be done in the same Chantry as the one heard in Juliena’s shop. It was smaller than Hawke had imagined it would be, quaint on the inside, homely, with beautiful stain glassed windows as elegant as they were austere, rising into the rafters and bathing the party and their few witnesses in the light that only Andraste could bring.

Of the witnesses, there were few: The Chantry sisters that had once gasped at the spectacle of the Inquisitor kissing her beloved, a few beggars from outside that Hawke and Isabela had invited in, Juliena and Mariel, and Mother Leighly.

It had been on Mother Leighly’s insistence that the person to marry them be the Herald of Andraste herself, despite her elven heritage and the symbol of the elvish Goddess marking her face, adding more humor to this day. And more grace.

“I have one surprise for you,” Wyn said quietly and gestured to the entrance to the Chantry. 

Both Hawke and Isabela looked to see Bethany Hawke standing at the side of an Inquisition guard, wearing the mage robes of the Grey Wardens, a small smile written on her face. “At least the Inquisitor had the sense to invite me.”

“Bethany!” Hawke exclaimed. The two rushed off the altar and in a moment, the younger Hawke sibling was completely squeezed into a hug. “I didn’t know you would be here.”

“Lady Lavellan said I was needed urgently and sent me on that ship of yours, Isabela, you’ll be pleased to know you have managed to con the Inquisition into sparing no expense for you. I must admit to still being a little envious how you can get women to fall all over you so easily. You even conned my sister into letting you wear white.” Bethany winked at the Admiral and then at the Inquisitor.

“It’s a gift,” Isabela joked.

“You’re taking my place at Weisshaupt.” Marian asked.

Bethany nodded slowly. “And you’re tying the knot. I never thought I’d see the day.” She laughed and was pulled into another bear hug. “I believe I can help them. More than you can at any rate, and you deserve this.”

“Be careful,” Hawke said.

“And don’t get completely lost out there...” Bethany said, releasing her sister. Her message was cryptic, but both Marian and Isabela seemed to catch on and nodded. “Now, get up there. I want to see Admiral Isabela, of all people, get married.”

Isabela gave Bethany a hug. She said a few words to the Warden and kissed her cheek before rejoining Marian before Wynaelora while Bethany took a seat.

Lieutenant Threnn stood close by as a cantor, her armor plates freshly polished by her own hand. Expecting something horrific, both Isabela and Hawke were pleasantly delighted when the massive, redheaded Fereldan commoner began a rendition of the Song Of Exaltation that was song so beautifully, it left tears around the edges of everybody and the sun a little brighter.

It was clear that Wynaelora did not know the song, but everyone was so taken by the Lieutenant, no one cared. “Thank you, my wife,” she said and bowed her head humbly. “I’m not sure what to say at these things,” she said to Marian and Isabela. “You’ve already kissed, so you’ve done that much to help me out.”

“Just say that we’re married, kitten,” Isabela said with a quiet joy in her voice.

“Not yet. There’s a part where we promise each other things,” Marian said. Her heart thudded in her ears the longer she gazed at Isabela. “Things like, I promise not to go in the Fade anymore and to always leave the last of the chocolate.”

“And I promise you...love...” was all Isabela could muster under shaky breaths. “No more adventures without you,” she swatted her hand dismissively and then was taken into her arms by Marian and kissed once more.

Sniffles echoed across the happy stones and Wynaelora couldn’t help but glance at Threnn, doing her best to hide her face, but too muted by emotion to grace the party with another song.

Wyn cleared her throat. “By the authority granted to me by the Inquisition, I declare you married under the grace of the Maker, Andraste, Andruil, and any other Heavenly authority who may be listening. You may kiss each other again.”

Isabela giggled and grabbed Marian by the waist, dipping the larger woman into a dramatic, yet longer kiss.

Applause broke out among the guests as the Chantry bell rang once more, this time sounding out a day of happiness.

Wyn held her hand out for her wife to take, leaning against her solid curass and closing her eyes as she felt Threnn’s lips on her head. “We should go.” She said quietly to her two friends who spent a few more moments lost in each other.

The remaining journey to the ship was a joyous one. Isabela had chosen not to wear her gown, but a fine new outfit with a tall bicorn made of the finest materials Juliena had and encrusted with the finest dwarven runes to ensure safe passage as well as secure the eternity she sought with her new wife.

Having gifted her horses to the two beggars who had been kind enough to attend the small ceremony, Marian nearly skipped in Isabela’s arms, dressed also in fine clothes befit for sailing, and smiled as the hull of the tall ship finally made it into view.

One of the Inquisition guards was loading final provisions into the ship and, recognizing Admiral Isabela, saluted the party as they approached.

“Now, this is a ship,” Isabela marveled. “Antivan you said?”

“More or less. I had one of the shipwrights from Ostwick put some Free Marcher flourishes on it to make it worthy of the high seas you intend her to sail on. The rest of her is built to your request,” Wynaelora said, turning her attention to Isabela.

“As I said, you managed to convince the Inquisition to go all out for you. Congratulations.” Bethany joked.

The Admiral scanned the hull and the freshly painted name on her fantail. “Enterprise...” she read aloud.

“I like it. Fitting for what we are about to do, sturdy.”

“And a name that isn’t at the bottom of the Waking Sea,” Isabela retorted. She faced Wyn and her wife.

“Sometimes the best fight is living,” Threnn said after a moment.

For a long moment the party of four and Bethany stood in a bittersweet silence. Goodbyes were never easy. Wherever they were going, it had a bright future, and whatever disaster followed Wynaelora and her Inquisition, there were worthy champions to fight it.

On that afternoon, the breeze blew coolly through the air, promising a fruitful descent into the next season and the new chapter in the lives of Isabela Hawke and her love Marian Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall and now sailor of the high seas, Right Hand of the Admiral.

Wynaelora, Threnn, Bethany Hawke and the collection of soldiers, Chantry sisters, and dock workers watched as the pair untied their ship and made their way through the channel and past the horizon, going wherever the future had to lead them.


End file.
